


memento vivere

by zarahjoyce



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Modern AU, Painter!Sansa, accidental meetings, photographer!jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 08:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20721191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahjoyce/pseuds/zarahjoyce
Summary: She stares at him for quite some time. "Do I... know you?" she asks. "I'm sorry, it's just-- you look, I don't know. Really familiar."Okay, so actually, he has limited options here.Option One: Tell the truth and make it look like he's a creep by remembering their encounters. Like acreep.Option Two: Lie and tell her he'd never seen her in his entire life. Like aliar.Option Three--"I'm probably intruding," she says with a light shake of her head. "I should just... let you continue what you're doing instead of interrupting you. Sorry."--don't let her leave, you fucking moron.





	memento vivere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FlibbertiGiblet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlibbertiGiblet/gifts).

_**1\. At dusk in Tyrosh**_  
  
"Excuse me," someone above him says, "I think you're in my seat."  
  
Jon frowns at his camera before looking up - and almost forgets to say what one usually says during these misunderstandings...  
  
...because he's pretty sure that standing before him is one of the planet's most visually appealing people he's _ever _seen.  
  
She raises a brow at him, and belatedly he realizes he's blatantly _staring _at her. Jon glances at the empty seat beside him, nods awkwardly, and proceeds to move to it. "Sorry," he says, once they're both settled.  
  
"Don't worry about it," she says quietly, offering him a quick smile.  
  
They don't talk _at all_ for the entire duration of the flight - mostly his fault, considering words die in his throat when he so much as _glances _at her. Instead Jon busies himself with his camera, reviews the photos he's taken in Tyrosh - or at least, _tries _to. Half his attention is taken by the redhead beside him, and he's itching to get a picture of her, if only as proof that she's not his hallucination. Just one shot, that's all he needs, really--   
  
Though of course, he _doesn't.  
  
_He has a feeling she won't appreciate having her picture stolen by some stranger aboard a plane.  
  
_No one_ will, after all.  
  
  
  
(later on he regrets not taking the risk, but by that time it's already too late.  
  
she's gone.)  
  
  
_**2\. The outskirts of Oldtown  
**_  
And--  
  
_\--click._  
  
Jon reviews the picture of the Hightower he's taken and grimaces, finding it too... _mundane_.   
  
He wants to capture the majesty of the old structure in film, make it look as imposing and grand as it is now - and yet his latest attempt makes it look ordinary, even _dead_.  
  
A capital crime, in his book.   
  
In an era full of selfies and photos hastily taken with phones, it's hard to capture the soul of subjects with one's camera - yet that's what Jon's currently trying to do.   
  
_Life through the Lens,_ he's calling his latest project.  
  
Which isn't going so well, now that he's thinking about it.   
  
Jon looks away from the tower, focuses on the people milling about. Realizing he needs a break, he takes photo after photo of them while they're caught unawares. People are most beautiful when they are unconscious of themselves, after all.   
  
He smiles at the snapshots he's taken. Stills of life, slices of laughter, fragments of beauty at pause. It's easier to catch life when his subjects are _bursting _with them.   
  
Then he gets to the last shot and-- _shit,_ is that--  
  
Jon looks around him, trying to find the flash of red hair that's so vibrant on film. He's pretty sure that was-- there was no mistaking it--  
  
  
  
(_get a grip,_ _j__on._)  
  
  
_**3\. The Water Gardens of Dorne  
**_  
"I still have four locations left," Jon says to his phone, turning to look at the lushness behind him. "I'll make it in time for the submission of entries, I assure you. Don't worry about it."  
  
He cuts off his friend's tirade and pockets his phone before taking a walk along the gardens. Jon takes a deep breath, enjoying the serenity of the morning, though of course he's on the lookout for _anything _that'll entice his attention.  
  
Such as the glimmering waters before him now.  
  
The sun's at its peak, and Jon takes his camera to catch its light bouncing off the pool. He takes three shots more in rapid succession, and then--  
  
\--the next thing he knows he's lurching forward, having been bumped by something.  
  
Or some_one_, he realizes later.  
  
"Shit," she says, eyes wide as she regards him. "I mean-- sorry. I wasn't-- looking."  
_  
It's her,_ he thinks, words dying in his throat _again_.  
  
_Fuck. This._  
  
Jon clears his throat. "It's fine. I was just--" He gestures at his camera. "I-It's fine."  
  
She stares at him for quite some time. "Do I... know you?" she asks. "I'm sorry, it's just-- you look, I don't know. Really familiar."  
  
Okay, so actually, he has limited options here.  
  
Option One: Tell the truth and make it look like he's a creep by remembering their encounters. Like a _creep_.  
  
Option Two: Lie and tell her he'd never seen her in his entire life. Like a _liar_.  
  
Option Three--  
  
"I'm probably intruding," she says with a light shake of her head. "I should just... let you continue what you're doing instead of interrupting you. Sorry."  
  
_\--don't let her leave, you fucking moron._   
  
"You're not interrupting me," he says, offering her a smile. "Where are you off to, if you don't mind me asking?"  
  
"Actually?" She reddens a bit. "I'm a bit lost. I set off earlier to find some quiet spot to paint in, and then I realized late just how huge this place is - and next thing I know I'm just... wandering around. Like an _idiot."  
  
_"Oh," Jon says. "Well I just came from the direction of the hotel, myself. Do you want me to escort you back there?"  
  
"Please," she says emphatically. "I'm _starving."__  
_  
He laughs. "No problem, then. One condition, though."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Let me buy you breakfast."  
  
She raises her brows, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Isn't breakfast free at the hotel?"  
  
\--shit. Jon can _feel _his ears reddening. "Right," he says slowly. "Yeah, I forgot about that part."  
  
Laughing a bit she says, "Bring me back to the hotel, _and then_ we'll get to talk about who will buy whom a meal."   
  
  
  
(_s__ansa._ her name's sansa.  
  
it's a start.)  
  
  
_**4\. Lemon groves in Dorne  
**_  
"This is the part of the tour that I _love _so much," Sansa says, walking backwards and grinning at him. "Lemon trees and their offspring - lemon pies."  
  
"Pretty sure lemon pies are created from murdering the true offspring of lemon trees - which are simply _lemons_," Jon teases her.   
  
She sticks her tongue out at him. "Spoilsport."  
  
Together, they sample so many variations of lemon pies that Jon feels sick just _thinking _about the dessert. Sansa, meanwhile, keeps on digging into a new slice with unreserved glee.  
  
"It'll be _years _before I get to eat like this again I'm sure," she explains even without his prompting. Sansa spoons another bite into her mouth with a flourish. "Don't judge me, Jon."  
  
"I wasn't saying anything," he tells her, grinning.  
  
Then, he catches sight of a bit of pie left at the corner of her lip. Without thinking, he reaches forward, wipes it off with his thumb - and freezes when his eyes meet hers.  
  
He pulls his arm back quickly and says, "Sorry."  
  
"It's fine," she replies, looking at her dessert plate but no longer eating its contents. "I-It's fine."   
  
  
  
(it wasn't.)  
  
  
_**5\. The fields of Highgarden  
**_  
He sees her painting in a quiet part of the garden fronting the fields, and not for the first time he's struck with how... _beautiful _she truly is.  
  
Without thinking Jon gets his camera and takes photo after photo of her.  
  
And photo after photo he captures everything - her femininity, her grace, her elegance as her hand moves with each brushstroke--  
  
"Jon," she calls out with what seems like exasperation, "you're staring."  
  
"Can't help it," he responds with a grin. "Although _technically_, I'm staring at your picture - not at you."   
  
Sansa laughs, and it's the most beautiful sound of all.  
  
  
  
(if only he'd known--  
  
\--it'd be the last time he'll see her.  
  
until--)  
  
  
_**6\. The bazaar at Pentos**_  
  
She doesn't show up at the last leg of the tour.  
  
No one can tell him about her or who had seen her last, and it's driving him up the wall because he was sure, he was so _fucking_sure--  
  
  
  
(he was falling for her.   
  
god_fucking_damnit.)  
  
  
_**7\. The halls of Winterfell**  
  
_"Excuse me," someone above him says, "I think you're in my seat."  
  
Jon frowns at his camera before looking up - and almost forgets to say what one usually says during these misunderstandings...  
  
...because standing in front of him is none other than _Sansa _\- the woman whose absence so consumed the rest of his tour, oddly enough.  
  
Jon opens his mouth, closes it - but no words come out.   
  
Then she taps his knee and orders him, "Please move, Jon."  
  
He does.  
  
After they're both settled, Jon turns to her and asks, "Where the hell were you these past few days?"  
  
She shrugs. "Sorry. I didn't join the tour at Pentos because I was..."   
  
"What?" he prompts her.  
  
"Finishing," Sansa says, gripping her bag as though it's a lifeline. "My painting."   
  
And then she lets it go, opens it, and takes out--  
  
\--a painting of _him._  
  
Jon draws a breath, looking with awe as she gives it to him. "This is--"  
  
"I know it's not as good as any of your award-winning pictures," she says, hands twisting on her lap, "but I-- I didn't know if we'll be seeing each other again after this, s-so I wanted you to have something I made. To... remember me by."  
  
"Sansa," he says, unable to say anything else.  
  
She crosses her arms, mock-glares at him and tells him, "You saying _'thank you, Sansa__'_ will suffice at this point, I think."  
  
  
  
(he doesn't.  
  
he _kisses _her - is what he does.)  
  
  
\--  
  
  


**National Geographic's Best Images of 2019 - curated from 117 photographers, 125 stories, and more than two million submissions.**  
  
1\. Upcoming Artist Sansa Stark, seen here creating one of her celebrated pieces   
From _"Life through Love's Lens" _  
Photograph by Jon Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by FlibbertiGiblet's lovely creation found at:
> 
> https://flibbertigiblet.tumblr.com/post/184060575809/follow-me-a-modern-au-he-wouldnt-be-parted


End file.
